Post by Duce Jones on Nov 5, 2019 20:23:26 GMT -6
“Today I begin a new life for I am the master of my abilities and today is going to be a great and beautiful day.”
- Jodie, Baby Boy
- Jodie, Baby Boy
Whenever you come to Vegas, it’s supposed to be an once in a lifetime experience. Lucky for me, this wasn’t my first time being in Sin City so this visit was more me being focused on the two matches that I had scheduled for the week. Tonight, I face the “Australian Submission Machine” Nathan Paradine at the Las Vegas Fairgrounds.
To be honest, I was a bit nervous, not because of the match but because the fairgrounds was once the epicenter for a mass shooting. But what can you expect when you have CWF schedule an event. I mean they could’ve easily just went to the MGM like the GCWA but whatever.. For me, it was the first time that I got to face a man that I admired in this business in Paradine. He was tough, hard-nosed and consistent, you don’t find that nowadays in this business, so it would be an honor to grapple with him.
Since arriving in Las Vegas, I had been vigorously training at Zone de Tier in preparation for not only this match but also my upcoming fight with Tony Savage. Truth be told, Paradine was an afterthought in mere comparison to Savage. See with Paradine, I was sure it was going to be a technical clinic but against Savage.. Well whether he knew it or not, when he made his proposal of offers to include within my open challenge. I mean asking a man to put his “services” on the line is like telling him either you beat my ass or you become my slave.. And you all know how people of my skin tone feel about slavery.. 400 years, forty acres and a mule, all that bullshit.
Like I told him, if he wanted a shot at the title, all he had to do was ask. But he had to make it personal by running his mouth, now why the fuck would he wanna go and do that? The average person probably would’ve heard out his terms and told him to go fuck himself. But that’s not the way that I roll, fuck no.. The only person I slave for is me and I’ll smack the fuck out of anyone else who thinks they've got any chance of changing that narrative.
Darkness began to set in over the Nevada sky as I prepared for my upcoming battle. Open-air fucking arena.. in the beginning of November.. yeah this was a brilliant fucking idea. I mean who wants to put ring gear on in 60° fucking weather? But the show must go on..
The show was well underway as I placed on my royal blue shorts with white designs plastered throughout it, a tribute to the hometown Memphis Tigers who were predestined to do well this college basketball season. I slid on the matching knee pads with my moniker "KTND" on the right one, soon followed by black Nike shoes and blue/white kick pads.
The cool Nevada air was enough for me to keep my shirt and hoodie on as I sat there patiently waiting for my time to walk out to the ring.
Focused..
Determined..
Willing to do whatever it takes..
It was a mode that I haven't been in since the first day that I walked through the doors of CWF. My defeat to Zolton was enough to change my outlook on a lot of things.
Like how within four years of being a professional wrestler, I might've been good but I still wasn't at an elite level. A hurtful realization if I ever had one. That's why this match meant so much to me, it was a chance for me to further stamp my legacy.
"Hey, Duce!" A stagehand says to me as I look up. "They're ready for you."
With a nod in his direction, the stagehand heads his way. Standing up from the chair I head for the curtains that led to the ring. Walking past other competitors who've already competed and decided to stick around for the last two matches. As much as I disliked the way things were ran here, I owed the CWF a lot of credit. They took a chance on a kid from the hood, gave him a shot.
And I ran with that shit!
Finally making it to the curtain, I look over at the production staff.
"I'm ready…"
They cue up my music. The by now familiar voice of Don Trip speaks.
"And the.. whole world… loves it when you sing the blues… Da.. Da… Da.. Da.. Da…."
The customary horns ring out through the PA system slowly followed by the trademark catchphrase of the legend, Macho Man Randy Savage. With a deep inhale, I step through the curtains and made my way towards the ring.
Ten minutes later..
I storm back through the curtains infuriated. I had worked with the best trainers that the Zone de Tier had to offer. Days of getting stretched out like my last name was Armstrong only to get a victory by technical knockout.
Are you fucking serious? I never got a chance to place these knees in his life once and I'm not the type of guy who likes to take a cheap win. So I allowed the referee to do his job until he counted the official ten count. The place was a madhouse, no type of structure. You plan a prestigious tournament and allow its name to be smeared with sneak attacks and cheap shots. There's no honor nor prestige in that.
Thankfully, I didn't have to compete so the chances of me getting sick from the less than chilly outside weather. Without as much as a word to anyone backstage, I head for my things and hurriedly leave the arena, feeling as if my time was wasted.
A few hours later..
A few miles down from the fence that supposedly held 'Area 51', I sat on my rental Ford Fusion, with the North American Championship over my shoulder and stared off into the distance at nothing in particular. There was a calmness that succumbed me as I sat there, still in my ring gear with my hood pulled up over my head.
“When I first got in dis business.. I didn’t expect shit ta be given.. I wanted ta get inside’a dat rang an’ prove dat I was somebody worth givin’ a fuck about. Tha first time dat I eva’ signed a contract wit an American promotion, I had dat second generation stank on me.. Ya kno’ what I’m talkin’ bout right?”
I look into the lens of my handheld camera that’s set up on its tripod.
“I guess folks thought I got into dis game ta ride my Pops name ta tha top.. Hmph.. Fuck no..I got inta dis business ta knock somebody’s head off’a their fuckin’ shouldas.. See I grew up watchin” Ka’Derrion bare tha strain of tryna climb outta his fatha’s shadow. An’ I did dat, I mean no disrespect ta my Pops but not too many folks rememba who Krayzie is but I’ve introduced a bunch’a muthafuckas ta who exactly Duce is, now my name holds a bit’a weight.. Not as much as I would like but tha folks out there are takin’ notice.. I mean ain’t dat why ya stepped up ta tha plate, Tony?”
I produce a blunt of Alien Dawg that I bought out of a nearby dispensary and spark it, taking a deep inhale before coughing viciously. After about a minute of coughing, I’m finally able to contain myself.
“Ya say you’ve been followin’ tha path dat I’ve been takin’.. Keepin’ up wit ole’ Ducey J.. I’m flattered, truly I am cuh I thought lil ole me wasn’t makin’ any kinda noise out here in these streets. But then dat faithful day came when I put out dat first open challenge, which was answered by the Behemoth Brute. You can talk down on ‘em all ya want to but I know from bein' up close an' personal dat he damn near knocked my head off on several occasions wit those brutal lariats. Then ya call tha Queen’a tha Rang a muthafuckin’ dud?”
I shake my head in shame before taking another pull and exhaling the smoke.
“You’s a disrespectful muthafucka.. but I can respect dat. Real recognize real.. But I wanna get some shit straight from tha jump. Seein’ as how ya from tha south, I’d figure you’d recognize southern vernacular when ya heard it..”
I shrug, coughing again.
“But I’m from Memphis mane, so I guess we speak a lil differently from y’all.. Talkin’ bout a mumble rappa’.. Maybe if ya opened ya ears a bit, ya could probably hear what I’m sayin’.. But I get it.. A lotta folks be havin’ a problem tryna undastand tha words comin’ out my mouth but once my knee get placed through there’s they begin ta hear what t’fuck I said a bit clearer. Ya see, I’m a man who was raised on respect, which means if ya give it, ya should receive it. But ya see Savage, you came at me all wrong, talkin’ bout if you beat me, you get my services.”
I laugh before taking a hit of the blunt once more.
“Dat sound like some 1900s slavery bullshit! I’ve watched tha propaganda, I’ve seen what they want me ta believe but there ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna let myself fall victim ta whateva bullshit dat it is dat ya got goin’ on in ya dome. I mean I get it, I’m kinda a stereotype so folks expect me ta hop, jump an’ skip like those muthafuckas dat they see on television..”
I motion my hand as if to say that it’s a wrap.
“Dis ain’t dat! Ya kno’ why? Cuh every night, I gotta work ten times harda than tha next ta get tha spot dat I belong in. I mean I could’ve walked into any company an’ boasted about tha World titles dat I’ve won, about all tha thangs dat I’ve done so far in dis business. Dat’s not me, I’d ratha’ earn it like a real man ‘sposed to. Cuh dat’s what a man does, he stands on his own an’ stands fo’ somethin’. You clown tha way dat I preserve money by drivin’ a rental, how I’d ratha’ support tha very company dat signs my checks ratha than wear name brand labels dat have neva done a gah’damn thang fo’ me.”
Opening my hoodie, I display the Nobody F’N Better t-shirt that i have on under it.
“I’d much ratha walk around wit a shirt wit Tha Great One an’ DeMarco on it than some muh’fucka who wouldn’t mention my name if I wasn’t a professional wrestla’. You can have ya labels, flaunt ya bookuh of dollas as if they’re coupons. Me.. I’d much ratha own some shit than have some shit own me an’ dats where my bread goes.. Its called investin’ but dat doubles on its own so I don’t gotta worry bout dat. Naw.. what I gotta worry about is makin’ sho dis beautiful strap.”
Looking down at the North American championship, I pat it proudly.
“Right here ain’t goin’ no muthafuckin’ where, so you can do ya lil boxin’ matches an’ extensive trainin’.. But nothin’ is gonna prepare ya fo’ tha unsanctioned violence dat I’m gonna bestow upon ya. See when dat bell rangs an’ ya layin’ unconscious where eva’ t’fuck I decide ta leave ya punk ass layin’ cryin’ ta ya brotha, Jace askin’ where t’fuck ya went wrong.. Not only will dat rollie an’ dat 250 bands be gone but so will yo pride.. Cuh you came fo’ mines an’ dat’s somethin’ I can’t respect. Come High Rollas, you gonna see how a real high rolla gets down..”
Fade.